Chapter 17
To my utter surprise, near the center of the row, I see Poe buried in a pile of hard- and paperbacks, a white shelf splayed diagonally atop. One foot—a left Hush Puppy shoe and ankle exposed—hangs out from under a four-foot high heap.
“Poe! Poe! I’m here to help you…I’m here!”
Immediately, I fall to my knees and begin to pull books away from him, one at a time, and carefully. To Kill a Mockingbird.Tess of the D’Urbervilles.The Best Works of Twain. Well-loved Fireside Shakespeare. Carrie. Murder on the Orient Express. Love in the Time of Cholera. Lolita. 1984. The Outsiders. Dandelion Wine. The Witches of Eastwick. We Were the Mulvaneys. The Great Gatsby. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Gently I place these splendorous reads behind me, freeing Poe’s left leg.